damp with sweat. Both boys smelled of horses and dogs and dirt. Max, gangly like his father, waded through the dogs to lay a hand on Laoch’s neck.
“We were watching for you,” Ethan told her. “Mom said you’d be back today.”
“We’ve been helping Dad and Simon with the haying.” Max gestured out to the field and the oft-repaired baler. “But they said we could come when we saw you up there. Your mom made cherry pies, and mine’s going to pick sweet corn.”
“We’re going to have a cookout.” Already Ethan hefted her saddlebags. “Because you’re back.”
“Sweet corn and cherry pies?” Fallon dismounted. “When do we eat?”
Because nothing pleased them more, she turned Laoch over to them. They’d cool him down, groom him like a king.
She hauled her bags in through the kitchen.
Pies with glossy cherry filling, bold red through the golden latticework crusts, bread, fresh and scenting the air, wrapped in cloth on the counter. Wildflowers in a jug, peaches ripening in a bowl, potted herbs thriving on the windowsill.
After the battle and the blood, the work and the worry, here was home.
And here, she realized, was what she needed to bring to the world as much as peace.
She dumped her bags—they could wait. Now she opened the fridge, found another jug. And grateful, filled a glass with her mother’s lemonade to wash away the heat and thirst of the journey.
Travis came in, nearly as sweaty as Ethan.
“Saw you coming in.” He grabbed another glass. “Had to finish something up, but I wanted to come by. Is everything okay with Colin, with Arlington?”
“He’s good. The base is secure.”
“Haven’t had a chance to talk to you really.” He glugged down lemonade. “We’ve made good use of some of the stuff you sent back—got a couple houses furnished and supplied already. The mayor and council and committees are working to help the people who wanted to come here settle in.”
He grabbed a peach—just underripe as he preferred. “We had the funerals last week. It was rough.”
“I should’ve been here.”
“Everyone knew why you weren’t. We’re going to have a memorial. The council voted on it, since we always have the annual on the morning of the Fourth, but we’re going to hold one for the placing of the stars. Now that you’re back.”
“It’s good. It’s right.”
“The last of the wounded were discharged a couple days ago. Most are already back in training. It was rough,” he repeated, talking quickly through it as he bit into the peach. “But taking three bases—and, Jesus, Arlington—then your broadcast after?”
With a satisfied head shake, Travis gestured with the peach. “Arlys printed it out, word for word, and posted it. Anyway, the mood around here is strong. In the last week, we’ve gotten fourteen more recruits from the outside. Mick just sent word they’ve pulled in eighteen. Eighteen.”
“Duncan?”
“He’s pretty remote, but Tonia told me—and she’s going to meet up with you as soon as she can get away—he had seven last count. And one’s a doctor, or was a—what’s it—intern when the Doom hit.”
“That’s good news, and we’ll need to go over all this. But now—”
“Here it comes.” He held up his hands, one holding the half-eaten peach. “First, we were a little busy dealing with the deserters, and keeping the wounded and medicals from getting overrun.”
“Which is why you should have let me know.”
“Busy,” he repeated, “and pretty much under control. Plus, in the thick of it?” On a shrug, he bit into the peach again, the underripe fruit snapping crisp as an apple. “Mom was like—wow, just wow. I’ve never seen her in full battle mode, you know? The thing was, she had Dad out, like in a trance so she could treat the bullet wound. These PWs break through the lines to try to get to the mobiles and escape, and Mom’s zap! Zap, pow!”
To demonstrate, he jabbed one fist, then the other. “Seriously, she took out three of them before you could fucking blink. And I’ve gotta say, Rachel’s no slouch. Grabs a scalpel with one hand, smashes this dude with an elbow, then slices him open. Then Hannah?”
He tossed the peach pit in the kitchen composter, turned to rinse off his hands. “You know, I’ve worked with her on combat training, self-defense. Let’s just say it hasn’t been her strength, right? She was moving from one mobile to the other when they hit us, and I’m yelling at her to get inside, barricade herself and the wounded. But she swings right around. Pow,